


to keep the goddess on my side

by belikebumblebee



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Up to 3x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 14:39:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15865641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/belikebumblebee/pseuds/belikebumblebee
Summary: The ship is sinking, the waters are getting colder, and her mentor is losing his faith.And so Nicole does as she has sworn to do: she steps up, and does what needs to be done, to the best of her abilities.She is running for Sheriff.-On taking responsibility, struggling to keep up, and loving deeply.





	to keep the goddess on my side

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this before 2x07 aired, and was hesitant to post it because the episode itself went in a very different direction than what I came up with -- but sometimes, imagining a different scenario can be fun, so here it is, anyway. :)
> 
> Please note that this fic is rated Mature for sexual content.

Without being overconfident, there are a few things that Nicole knows about herself.

 

She's smart.

 

She has a solid understanding of the world around her, and a keen investigative mind.

 

She is dependable and hardworking.

 

And she is honest enough to know that at this point in her career, she lacks experience, authority, and wisdom to be Sheriff. Don't get her wrong; this is her dream, and to earn her spot behind that desk has always been the plan. Just… not like this.

 

She ought to refuse. She almost does.

 

But the problem is this:

 

If she takes the job, Ghost River County gets a green Sheriff. An underprepared Sheriff.

 

If she doesn’t… well. Nedley was clear on his intent to retire, and Nicole knows very well that there is no alternative in the department.

 

The ship is sinking, the waters are getting colder, and her mentor is losing his faith.

 

And so Nicole does as she has sworn to do: she steps up, and does what needs to be done, to the best of her abilities.

 

She is running for Sheriff.

  


*

  


**_Nicole Haught. 3:40 pm_ ** _. Are you coming over tonight or am I?_

 

 **_Waverly <3\. 3:45 pm. _ ** _we haven't made plans yet!_

 

 **_Nicole Haught. 3:46 pm._ ** _Do you have a preference?_

 

 **_Waverly <3\. 3:50 pm._ ** _homestead? i'm trying to get mama into vegan cookies rn_

 

 **_Nicole Haught. 3:56 pm._ ** _Oh. And how is that going? I'll come by a little later, I’m out of spare clothes at your place_

 

 **_Waverly <3\. 3:56 pm._ ** _okay! you need more stuff here. we have a washing machine, too, you know_

 

 **_Waverly <3\. 3:57 pm._ ** _also, it's going terribly. she says they “taste like getting up at five feels”_

 

 **_Nicole Haught. 4:01 pm._ ** _Meeting her has cleared up so many questions I had about Wynonna._

  


*

  


(When she finds herself alone at the station, Nicole pauses in front of Nedley’s office, runs a hand over the doorknob.

 

Her fingers itch.)

  


*

  


_CAMPAIGN STRATEGY BRAINSTORM_ , it says in Waverly’s neat handwriting across the top of a whiteboard Nicole is _pretty_ sure wasn’t there when she left this morning.

 

Below it is an elaborate mindmap -- _Merchandise_ , one of the hubs reads; another says _Slogan,_ another one yet _Community_ \-- and a To Do List. Nicole tries to read the bullet points.

 

 

  * __Ask Nicole about plans/changes__


  * _Call Meyers for billboard_


  * _Bake muffins?_


  * _B̶u̶y̶ ̶a̶ ̶b̶u̶t̶t̶o̶n̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶r̶_


  * _Design flyers_


  * _Speech?_



 

 

“Hey, Wave…” she says, still a little taken aback.

 

Waverly, happy as a clam, sits on the floor of her room, surrounded by scraps of paper, pieces of thin metal, two open boxes, her laptop, and an honest to God button maker.

 

“Hi, cutie,” she sings, and grins up at her. With a metallic click, she slides the finished button out of the machine, and drops it into one of the boxes. _HAUGHT_ , the button reads. “How was your day?”

 

“Baby,” Nicole tries, and keeps her voice careful. “You know I’m running unopposed, right?”

 

Waverly shrugs. “Doesn’t mean they won’t appreciate the effort. Oh!” She jumps up, crossing the room towards the whiteboard.

 

 _Surveys?_ gets added to the mindmap, and Waverly connects the new point to _Community_ with a very straight line.

 

When she turns around, she’s still grinning proudly, but it melts off her face quickly.

 

“I’m sorry,” she says. Her gaze wanders over the chaos of her room like she’s seeing it with different eyes all of a sudden. “I should have asked you; you don’t have to use any of this--”

 

“Hey, now.” Nicole takes off her boots, leaves them by the door. She lifts the take-out in her hand. “How about we have some dinner, and you explain to me what your plan is, Miss Campaign Manager?”

  


*

  


There have been three people in Nicole’s life who helped to shape her into the officer she is today, and she could really use their help right about now.

 

One of them was her teacher back in college. Her name was Riley -- just Riley -- and she was a truly inspiring personality; but unless Nicole is willing to find out her phone number, call her out of the blue after _years_ , and explain the whole situation, demons and all, she’s out.

 

Dolls was another.

 

For a moment, Nicole slips into a world where he’s around the corner. She sees herself knock at the door of the Black Badge office -- _Come in, Haught_ , he would call -- and find him there, probably wearing a North Face pullover, or something equally stylish and practical. _What’s up?_ he might ask, or maybe _What can I do for you?_

 

It would sound a little on edge, but Nicole knows that he’s not shy about voicing his irritation when he’s _actually_ annoyed.

 

She would offer to buy lunch if she could pick his brain about something. _Done_ , he would say, _I’m having a double cheeseburger with a Ceasar salad._

 

A small price to pay for some solid advice.

 

Nicole has to get up and open a window, breathe in a bit of the cold air to regain her composure.

 

(She can’t remember when she and Dolls became friends, but every day, she hopes that he knew that they were. He must have known.)

 

That leaves Nedley, and Nicole isn’t sure what’s going on with him, but he’s not himself lately -- which is why she is in this situation in the first place.

 

It’s not like she doesn’t get it. Being Sheriff comes with a lot of responsibility, but being Sheriff of a cursed county comes with a whole other level of problems, too. Nicole more than understands that Nedley would need to step away at some point. But retirement or not, she needs him; not as her boss, but as her mentor. She needs _help._

 

With a sigh, Nicole gets out her phone and dials a number she has never called before.

The person on the other end picks up quickly.

 

“Hey, Chrissy. It’s Nicole; Nicole Haught. From the station. Do you have time to have lunch sometime this week?”

  


*

  


“Hey, Sheriff.”

 

“I'm not Sheriff _yet,_ Wynonna.”

 

Wynonna rolls her eyes. “Don't be such a drag. You're running unopposed. You're _essentially_ the Sheriff.”

 

“That's not how… forget it.” Nicole pours a second coffee, leaving a bit of space in the mug for whatever Wynonna might want to add -- milk, whiskey, who knows what kind of day she’s having. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Thanks.” She takes the mug, and Nicole notes the rare absence of sarcasm from her voice. “Listen, uh… we need to sit down and have a grown-up talk some time.”

 

Nicole sighs. With Wynonna, _grown-up talk_ usually involves getting drunk. But…

 

“Not the sexy kind,” Wynonna adds, and then: “And not the drunk kind, either.”

 

That gets her attention. Leaning back against the counter of the break room, Nicole frowns. “Is something wrong? Is Waverly--”

 

“She's fine. This is... about the job. I had some agreements with Nedley, and I want to talk them over with you.”

 

It’s strange, how sober and serious Wynonna can sound, even while pouring a finger of maple syrup into her coffee. She’s almost out the door already, leaving Nicole behind by the kitchenette, when she stops again. “We’ll figure this out together, alright?”

 

Wynonna is looking back at her. Through something bulky and hard in her throat, Nicole replies: “Alright.”

  


*

  


It’s cold when Nicole wakes up; the heating in the homestead must be failing again. _3:04 am_ , the numbers on the alarm clock read. Too early.

 

Next to her, Waverly radiates awakeness.

 

“Wave?” Her voice comes out scratchy. “Is everything okay?”

 

Waverly’s eyes are glittering in the dark, unreadable. She says nothing, and it takes Nicole a moment to catch up. To notice the way her breath crashes like waves, and how she has her gaze fixed on Nicole, drawing her bottom lip between her teeth.

 

“Oh,” she breathes, and opens her arms. “Come here.”

 

Waverly moves in close, quick and a little frantic.   
  
Between the thrill of uncertainty and the depths of endless terror looming just around the corner, sometimes a void opens, sucking them in. Nicole can feel it rising and surging between them, now; calling her, even though she’s only half-awake.   
  
“Please,” Waverly's voice cuts through the night. It sounds so small, but it rings out in the cold air of the room.   
  
_I’ve got you,_ Nicole wants to say, but the words tangle in her mouth when Waverly shifts in her embrace and hits the right nerve, making her eyes roll back.   


Her thumbs slip under the waistband of Waverly’s pajama bottoms; they get lost between the sheets somewhere. Waverly’s hands slide over her ribs where her shirt has ridden up, and…

  
Wanting her used to be quicker, sharper. Now, Nicole feels her soul settle into her bones as Waverly presses their hips together, feels her blood climb and sing as they kiss.   
  
This is a different kind of being together: not fun, exactly; not quite the gentle love-making of a slow Sunday afternoon, either, but the strangely addictive haste to feel each other’s heartbeats. To pull their band a little tighter.   
  
Waverly can be loud when wants to. Let go and lose herself and fill the room with her bliss, if she wants to. But she doesn't; not now.   
  
It makes Nicole feel absolutely weightless, the quietude of it. Like her gasp is a secret meant for just the two of them; not hidden, just private.   
  
Waverly rolls on top of her, and while the weight of her is pleasant and perfect, Nicole winds up with a mouthful of hair.   
  
"Baby, do you have a--"   
  
Waverly groans; a low, rumbling sound that turns the cogwheels of Nicole's desire tighter. She flips over, and flings out a hand to grope around on the nightstand for a hair tie.   
  
To pull her mane of hair back, she sits up, swinging one leg out to straddle Nicole's waist. Nicole swallows, her hands finding Waverly's bare thighs. In the darkness, she can barely make out her face; the pale moonlight only catches a little on the slope of her side and the point of her elbow.

 

(She knows what’s there to see: her girlfriend, wearing nothing but a long-sleeved pajama top with Mickey Mouse’s face on it. The rise of her chest, the curve of her neck. If Nicole had to guess, she’d say that Waverly’s eyes are half-closed.)

 

Waverly reaches for the blanket, pulling it up to her shoulders like a cape, and brings it down around them both.

 

“Hi,” Nicole breathes, and Waverly smiles against her mouth.

 

“Hi,” she echoes, out of breath.  

 

Her boxershorts have shifted up uncomfortably high, and when Nicole moves a little, Waverly notices it, too. Nicole thinks she sees her look up, like she’s asking for permission, and nods, because--

 

She’s unsure how it happens, they just slide together, and Nicole sighs, or gasps, or maybe moans a little. For a moment, they just hold each other there. They’re too close, locked too tightly together for there to be any kind of friction, but this is good. Just for a moment.

 

Sometimes it just hits Nicole, that they’re really together.

 

Waverly shivers. “Nicole,” she starts, and _yes._

 

They rock together; once, twice, and Nicole flips them around, lays Waverly down onto her pillow.

 

“I want--”

 

“I’ve got you, baby,” Nicole promises.

 

She has sworn to herself to always make good on the promises she gives to Waverly Earp. This one she keeps with ease: she knows how to love Waverly’s body, knows its rhythm like she knows her own heartbeat.

 

Waverly moves with her, deliberate and slow. Her hands snake up, searching for purchase, landing on the pillow, Nicole’s shoulder, coming to rest on the headboard. Her fingers curl.

 

Nicole can see Waverly’s face now; how her lips roll inward and she pushes off the bed just slightly.

 

(It thrills her to the core.)

 

If it wasn’t three in the morning, Nicole would draw this out. In fact, she’s got half a mind to do it now: cover Waverly’s whole body with her own. Strip them both of their shirts. Put her mouth to good use.

 

But in three and a half hours, both their alarms will ring, and so she doesn't.

 

Instead, she moves her fingers the way Waverly's body language dictates, lets her dance on the point of a needle, and--

 

Forcing herself to be quiet, Waverly pulls her in. She wraps her arms and legs around her, hard as a vice, like she needs her to be as close as physically possible, hips bucking.

 

Nicole's hand almost gets twisted before she can pull it back, but she doesn't care; she holds on with all she’s got, slides her arms around Waverly and pulls her along when she rolls onto her back.

 

With her hands still fisted in Nicole’s shirt, Waverly inhales sharply, and _oh_ , Nicole just _loves_ her; she could live out the rest of her days in this moment, sticky with sweat and graceless as it is...

 

The blankets seem to have gotten lost somewhere.

 

Waverly’s grip eases, but as soon as she moves, a shudder goes through her, and in response, Nicole can feel herself getting _lost._

 

Right by her ear, Waverly lets out an exhausted giggle and then shushes her softly: “Let’s not wake anyone.”

 

But she rolls her hips for her, anyway, arching against her. Soft kisses land on Nicole’s brow, her temple, her cheek. Nicole thinks that Waverly is stroking the hair out of her face with one hand, but she’s also--

 

She’s too sleepy, too relaxed to last long.

 

Chemicals flood her brain, but that’s not what this feels like. It feels like leaving this dimension for a few moments, and if she does --  if she leaves the room and the bed and possibly her brain behind -- then Waverly is there with her.

 

Her breathing evens out slowly. Her body temperature sinks, and Waverly feels warm against her skin.

 

Pulling the blanket back over both of them, Nicole settles down.

 

“You’ll be careful, right?” Waverly whispers, in that serious voice she uses so seldom. She flinches a little as they detangle their limbs.

 

Nicole doesn’t have it in her to pretend like she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. With a deep sigh, she wraps both arms around her, pressing a kiss to Waverly’s temple.

 

“Of course I will. We’ll both be careful.”

  


*

  


New Year’s Eve is awkward at first, mostly because Michelle turns out to be _really_ sold on the idea of ringing in the new year with fireworks.

 

But before Nicole can figure out how to confiscate the small arsenal of pyro articles that Michelle has somehow gotten her hands on _without_ ruining the evening, Jeremy saves the day.

 

“Uh,” he says, “yeah, those are totally mine. I’m a certified pyrotechnician.”

 

“You’re _what?_ ” Wynonna, Nicole, and Robin ask at the same time, in three very different tones.

 

He shrugs. “Yeah. It was like, a hundred bucks and a really interesting course. Do you want to see my license? I have it in my wallet, so…”

 

Perplexed, Nicole unfolds the battered piece of paper he hands her, and sure enough: Jeremy Chetri, licensed pyrotechnician.

 

“Well, then.” She grins as she hands it back to him. “Enlighten us.”

 

Three Earps groan at her pun, but at least Waverly kisses her cheek, too.

  


*

  


In the end, there are three write-ins for Champ Hardy, but otherwise, the election goes over without a hitch -- whether it was the lack of choice, Waverly’s campaign strategy, or Nicole’s genuine efforts to make herself known to the public that did the trick, the world may never know.

 

Nicole signs the paper with the expensive Montblanc fountain pen that is handed to her, and then she is Sheriff.

 

“I'm so proud of you,” Waverly whispers when she hugs her later, running her hands over the mic loops on her shoulders.

 

Nicole hugs her back, but lets go quickly. Wynonna, Jeremy, and Michelle are there, too, and she shakes the hands that are extended her way.

 

“Kudos, Haught stuff,” Wynonna says, and then corrects herself: “Sorry, I meant _Sheriff_ Haught stuff.”

 

(Nicole still doesn’t entirely trust Michelle, which she wisely keeps to herself. But the approving look that she and Wynonna share still makes one of the wheels in her head turn more smoothly.)

 

Doc is around less and less these days, and it’s on Nicole’s mental to-do list to figure out why, but he’s there when they celebrate at Shorty’s that evening. He pours their drinks while everyone pretends like it’s not awkward that he and Wynonna aren’t speaking to each other, and one of his heavy hands lands on Nicole’s shoulder.

 

“My congratulations, Sheriff Haught,” he drawls, clinking his glass to hers. “You’ll do a fine job of protecting the people in this town, I’m sure. I know Dolls would have surely thought the same.”

 

Nicole’s cheeks feel warm. “Thanks, Doc. I’ll do my best.”

 

Wynonna lifts her glass. “To doing our best!”

  


*

  


When Nedley first told her that he wanted her to follow in his footsteps, Nicole couldn’t sleep, she was so giddy. She had a million plans, and that most definitely included redecorating the Sheriff’s office -- mostly because that mounted deer head makes Waverly sad.

 

But when she steps into Nedley’s-- no, _her_ office on her first day, she decides to leave everything the way it is. At least for now.

 

(The couch has sentimental value, after all.)

 

Instead, she spends the entire morning poring over files, numbers, archived letters and emails, cursing the old desktop computer, and rubbing her own forehead. Technically, she was supposed to have _guidance_ with this. But as it is, Chrissy let her know that her dad is not currently in any state to come to the station -- she sounded upset on the phone, almost accusatory, like it’s somehow Nicole’s fault that the job seems to have broken him.

 

Nicole offered to come over and talk with him, but Chrissy was having none of it.

 

“He needs rest,” she said sternly. “And he certainly doesn’t need any of you lot coming to disturb him.”

 

Well.

 

‘Stepping up’ and ‘relieving Nedley’ and ‘doing her part’ all sounded very honorable when she said yes to this. And, okay, fine, ‘her own office’ and ‘Sheriff Haught’ sounded pretty damn good, too.

 

Except there are a hundred problems that need solving, and _Budgeting_ is on the very top of that list -- ( _Demon-Related) Mortality Rate of Deputies_ is a close second.

 

From what Nicole can tell, Nedley did an extremely good job of keeping everything under control over the years, but his system was never meant to function under the added weight of the demon activity that flared up after Wynonna came back to town. It was also never meant to cover up the fact that Black Badge no longer exists, but still somehow operates out of the Sheriff station.

 

By lunchtime, Nicole is sweating coffee and is nursing a serious headache.

  


*

  


**_Outgoing Calls:_ **

 

_Nedley Residence (5)_

 

_Homestead (2)_

 

_Waverly <3 (1) _

 

**_Incoming Calls:_ **

 

_Waverly <3 (3) _

 

_Wynonna Earp (2)_

 

_Jeremy Chetri (1)_

  


*

  


Come Saturday evening, Nicole is five minutes away from deputizing Bob Sawyer’s horse and leaving it in charge for the next two weeks. (Hey, if a Roman Emperor could do it, why not Nicole?)

 

Nedley still isn’t returning her calls. It feels like she’s gotten nowhere over the past six days. Her head is _crawling_ with digits and letters, swirling around her, clinging to her, weighing her down.

 

She drives her own car home.

 

Driving feels good; almost cathartic. She knows what to do; knows the sound her engine makes and the clicking of her blinker, the houses and streets. She’s good at driving. Maybe she should have become a taxi driver, she thinks sourly.

 

Turning the music way up, Nicole takes the long way back, even if she’s feeling faint and grumpy with hunger. Maybe she’ll warm up a pizza later, even if it _is_ gluten-free. It’s not like her week could get any worse.

 

But when she unlocks her front door half an hour later, there is soft music playing in the house. Tracy Chapman, Nicole thinks.

 

“Waverly?” she calls, throwing her keys into their bowl and shrugging out of her jacket.

 

“In the kitchen!”

 

Waverly looks up when she comes in. “Hey, baby,” she says. She’s sitting cross-legged on one of the kitchen chairs, in leggings and one of Nicole’s college hoodies that are too big for her. Half the table is covered by a large, ancient-looking book, and Waverly seems to be taking notes on a pad that’s resting on her knee. Her other hand is wrapped around a mug of tea. Nicole is so exhausted that the sight of it almost makes her cry.

 

“Hey,” she says instead. “You’re here.” She really can’t help the dopey smile that is suddenly on her face.

 

“I am. Wynonna dropped me off.” Waverly smiles her sunniest smile, the one that tames drunkards and parts the clouds (in fact, Nicole is half-convinced that Waverly could probably break the curse with that smile), but her voice is soft for her benefit. “I also brought a short-rib burger for you, a mushroom burger for me, Ben & Jerry’s, your favorite beer, and swiped a bottle of Wynonna’s whiskey. Go get changed. _Murder, She Wrote_ is on in twenty minutes.”

 

Nicole just stands there.

 

“Oh, sweetie,” Waverly says, and her notepad slides to the floor as she jumps up, “don’t cry. Did something happen? Nicole…”

 

But it’s too late: here she is, Sheriff Nicole Haught, standing in her kitchen in full uniform, crying into her girlfriend’s hair.

 

“It’s okay,” Waverly keeps murmuring. “It’s gonna be okay.”

 

And, strangely, Nicole believes her.

 

She goes to wash her face a little later, and as she changes into sweatpants and her favorite top, she feels better. Not… good, but safer. Like she’s done enough for today.

 

When she makes her way back to the living room, Waverly has already turned on the TV, and taken their food out of the oven where she’s been keeping it warm. The overly enthusiastic voice of some car salesman quiets, and is replaced by the upbeat piano music that starts off the intro to _Murder, She Wrote._

 

“Ooh, I think this is from one of the later seasons,” Waverly calls excitedly from the couch, not realizing that Nicole is already in the room. All her hair is swept over one shoulder, and she is braiding it quickly. “It’s the intro with the scene where she finds her favorite pen again!”

 

The thought comes suddenly, unbidden, and entirely unexpected:

 

_Marry me._

 

Nicole’s blood drops, and she freezes where she stands.

 

Twisting around in her seat, Waverly grins up at her. “You coming, babe?”

 

“Yeah,” Nicole breathes out, distracted. “Yeah, I’m here.”

  


*

  


It’s a stupid thought, and not one she is seriously considering.

 

But it also makes her heart shiver in her chest.

 

Over the next week, she finds herself browsing jewelers on Yelp during her lunch break, quickly closing the page whenever she catches herself.

 

“Do I have toothpaste on my face or something?” Wynonna asks suspiciously when Nicole spaces out during their conversation, and Nicole quickly clears her throat, caught.

 

“No, sorry, go on,” she hurries to say, and decides that, yes, it would probably be a good idea to ask Wynonna for her blessing if she ever _did_ plan on proposing to Waverly. Not that they would need Wynonna’s permission, per se. But Nicole is pretty sure that at the end of the day, Wynonna would never deny her baby sister anything, and Waverly would be so happy to know that Wynonna supports them.

 

“Dude, are you listening to me?”

 

Nicole feels like maybe her ears would glow in the dark right now.

  


*

  


She’s not going to do it.

 

Obviously.

 

She’s been divorced for all of five months, she’s not going to get married again so soon.

 

They haven’t even moved in together yet.

 

Not that she could ever ask Waverly to move out of the homestead; not now, when she has just gotten her mother back.

 

(But still.)

  


*

  


“Sheriff Haught!” Jeremy greets her when she runs into him in the parking lot. “Good morning!”

 

She only feels slightly guilty for being immediately suspicious of his high spirits.

 

“Jeremy,” she sighs, “how many times do I have to tell you that you can still call me Nicole?”

 

He grins at her, rubbing his gloved hands together. “Sorry. I’m just so excited.”

 

“Excited about what?” Nicole frowns, feeling more alarmed by the minute.

 

“You’ll see!” And with that, he’s off, hurrying down the street to the coffee shop.

 

Nicole takes a moment to sigh deeply and look up at the sky, which seems to look back at her with indifference. She really doesn’t need any more surprises, but such is the life of the Sheriff of Ghost River County, it seems. Time to face the music.

 

When she enters the station, only Ronda, their part-time dispatcher, is sitting at her desk.

 

“Good morning, Sheriff,” she says. “You’ve got visitors. They’re waiting in your office.”

 

Nicole nods in passing, making a mental note to talk to Ronda about leaving civilians alone in the office.

 

Taking a deep breath, she opens the door with a flourish, her most polite smile in place.

 

On the couch beneath the window sits Michelle Earp, but she is not alone. Nicole almost doesn’t recognize him for a split-second, because he’s wearing a fishing vest over a flannel instead of a uniform, but he’s back: Randy Nedley.

 

“I heard you needed… some counsel,” he says, and his voice is still a little tired. After a moment, he continues: “I’m sorry I bailed on you, Nicole. I’ve had a rough month.”

  


*

  


As she goes, Michelle gives Nicole a cheerless little smile that she has seen on Wynonna’s face countless of times.

 

“I’ll leave the two of you to it, then,” she says, and then, directed at Nedley: “I’ll be right outside if you need me, Randy.”

 

(Not for the first time, Nicole wonders what things were like 25 years ago. Were they friends, Curtis, Gus, Michelle, and Nedley? Was Ward one of them, before he showed his true colors? It occurs to her that she doesn’t know if Gus is even aware of her sister’s return.

 

Sometimes it feels like there is so much going on, it’s hard to see the wood for the trees.)

 

In the entire two weeks that she’s been Sheriff, it hasn’t truly sunk in that she has taken over Nedley’s job for good. But now they’re sitting here, no desk between them, but next to each other on this old couch, and her boss-- no, her _mentor,_ is confiding in her about nightmares, fear, and depression.

 

“I’m not proud of just leaving you here to fend for yourself,” he says, and Nicole’s heart aches for how quiet he sounds. “But I found that I… could not go on. I have nothing but the utmost trust in your abilities. Under different circumstances, I would have waited another five years before letting you take over, but…”

 

He sighs, deeply, and covers his face with one hand.

 

Tentatively, Nicole reaches out and takes the other. His fingers are dry and limp.

 

“It’s alright, sir.” She keeps her voice low, but firm. “I think I can handle it. But… I could use some guidance, if you’re up for it?”

 

For a horrible moment, Nicole is afraid that Nedley might cry.

 

But he’s just huffing out a joyless laugh, rubbing at the stubble on his face with one hand, squeezing her hand with the other before letting go. “Yes, I suppose you do. Show me your questions. I’m assuming you’ve been keeping a list.”

 

Nicole feels herself blush. “Yes, Sher-- I mean… Mr. Nedley.”

 

That manages to coax a real laugh out of him, short and dry.

 

“ _Mr. Nedley,_ ” he repeats. “Kid, you can call me Randy.”

  


*

  


It’s late when she makes it to the homestead that evening. Her breath curls in a white cloud in front of her face when she gets out of the car, and the remnants of frozen snow crunch beneath her boots. It’s way too cold for a cook-out, but the Earps are made of hardy stuff, it appears, because Wynonna and Waverly are sitting in rickety old chairs before a blazing campfire, buried under blankets.

 

Nicole puts her hands on her hips when she reaches them.

 

“Evening,” she says.

 

Waverly, warmly illuminated by flames, is giggling into her beer, like maybe Wynonna said something funny three minutes ago and she’s still riding the tail-end of a laughing fit. It makes Nicole melt, and her entire soul feels whole.

 

“Hi, baby,” Waverly says, still snickering and entirely unaware of the effect it has on the local Sheriff.

 

“Hello there, Haught stuff,” Wynonna greets, jovial. “You here to arrest us for public intoxication?”

 

“It’s not public when it’s on your own land, Earp,” Nicole reminds her helpfully. “And, no. I am officially off-duty, for today.”

 

“Mmh.” Waverly makes a pleased little sound. “So you can come kiss me, then.”

Nicole can’t help but glance at Wynonna, who lets her boots slide off the empty chair and makes a show of brushing it off, pulling it into the space between her and Waverly.

 

“You might as well come sit, if you’re going to crash our sisterly bonding. You don’t happen to have any chocolate in that utility belt? I’ve got a real craving.”

 

The fire cracks and sparks, and before Nicole lets herself fall into the remaining chair, she bends down to kiss her girl hello.

 

“Sorry,” she tells Wynonna, “no dice. I might have some gum?”

 

“Ugh. Nevermind. I’m getting chocolate from inside. Anyone else want anything?”

 

“A blanket?”

 

“A water, please.”

 

“Oh, and if you have another beer--”

 

Wynonna grumbles about asking in the first place, but she vanishes in the house, and Nicole figures that there’s about a fifty percent chance she’ll actually bring them anything. To be on the safe side, she steals one of the blankets she left behind on her chair.

 

When she turns around, Waverly has her head leaned against the backrest of her chair, smiling softly in her direction.

 

“Hi, baby,” she says again, softer this time. “How was your day?”

 

“Not bad at all, actually. Which I think I have your mother to thank for.”

 

The corners of Waverly’s eyes crinkle. “I’m glad.”

 

Nicole takes her hand. “How was yours?”

 

Slowly, Waverly’s eyes drift closed. “All the better now that you’re home.”

 

And there it is again--

 

 _Marry me,_ her heart sings, _Waverly, will you marry me?_

 

For a long moment, Nicole feels like she is standing on a fence, ready to tip over into Waverly’s arms and just say it. There’s nothing to lose, because she’s sure: she wants Waverly, now and forever, her and everything that comes with tying their lives together. The curse, the past, the dangers of their duties -- she’ll take it all and more if it means that she gets to be with Waverly Earp.

 

Waverly, who holds her together after a bad day. Waverly, who smiles like the sun. Waverly, who traded her whole world away to save Nicole’s life.

 

Everything feels different than it did with Shae.

 

“Something on your mind?” Waverly murmurs, eyes still closed.

 

The decision makes itself.

 

“No,” Nicole tells her, and squeezes her hand.

 

They’ve got forever. There’s time to spare.

 

“Just happy to be home.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Feel free to share your thoughts with me. :)


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